The Division: Dark Winter
by Robert Preston Matthews
Summary: Yesterday, the dollar was the symbol of power. But today, it means death and destruction. All those who used to protect us, have been overwhelmed. But that, that was yesterday. Before we decided that our playgrounds would now become our battlefields. And the city, where yesterday they were happy to live, has now become the place where they choose to survive.
1. Prologue

Dark Winter

By R.P. Matthews

A fan-fiction based upon Tom Clancy's The Division.

It's hard to watch something you love destroy itself. To see it fall apart. Disasters always felt so distant and detached. Like it was someone else's struggle in some far away place. It's not until it was in your cities and at your doors that we realized just how fragile our lives, our way of life, were.

When the virus hit, when it came down, it came down hard, and society fell. Folks buried themselves in anger and fear and the instinct to survive.

The real truth...the truth is...No one watched. No one saw or wanted to see.

The tragedy is invisible. People turn away and run from it if they can.

Its hard knowing that they belonged here. That their purpose lay amongst all that pain.

But someones got to to be there to pick it up. To push back. To put the first piece back together. To put the world back together.

Yesterday, the dollar was the symbol of true power. But today, it meant nothing but death and destruction. And all those who used to protect the masses, have been overwhelmed. But that, that was yesterday. Before they decided that their playgrounds would now become their battlefields. And the city, where yesterday they were happy to live, has now become the place where they choose to survive.

Because yesterday, they were ordinary citizens. But today, they had to be rise up and be more...

A cold chill whipped through the gaping hole where a door once had been. It carried on it snow flurries that settled and lingered on any surface; empty shelf, debris-strewn floor, and a broken register. On it wafted the now all too familiar scent of piled trash, refuse, and the smell of things burning that ought not to burn. The sounds of engines, voices, or sirens that John always associated with Brooklyn were a fond memory.

It was near midday but the corner store was dark. No light came from the fluorescent lights, the result of a crippled power grid. Only the soft orange glow of Johns watch and the black ISAC brick attached to his Go-Bag strap offered any illumination. The store was as eerily quiet as the city it resided in.

The corner market bore testament to the desperation that encapsulated the times. A mailbox lay on the floor amidst a carpet of shattered glass. Shelves that had once been lined with snacks, drinks, and other sundries were practically barren. What few useful items lay trampled on the floor. Even the register had been smashed open, its contents long gone. Probably stolen by some poor fool who hadn't realized the Green Poison was transferred via tainted currency.

Such details passed through John's mind and were quickly filed away. He couldn't dwell on any one thing for long else it'd drive him mad. Not thinking about the slow decay of civilization was like not thinking about the weather. It was always there but only a concern when it made you cold.

And New York was freezing.

Stepping back out into the street he declared, "Store's cleaned out." Shame. He'd been hoping to find at least a bottle of water or snack cake that had gone unnoticed.

A grunt was the only form of acknowledgment he received from his teammate. Darrell was kneeling in the street, eyes focused intently upon the figure at his feet.

The body lay spread eagle on the pavement, his milky eyes staring without seeing. A thin layer of white powder coated him from head to toe, almost obscuring the ragged entry wound. John could just make out the gleam of the NYPD shield on his chest. The burnished gold matched the wedding band on his finger.

A cop lay murdered in the center of an intersection, and not a single onlooker to bear witness. Such were the times this side of the Hudson River. The residents were more concerned about staying out of sight of the roving bands of near-to-do-wells that were an all to common theme in Brooklyn these days. One only braved outdoors to scavenge for supplies.

John's eyes went back to the looted register. Even if those particular bills were clean, it was a pointless gesture. Currency was no longer the currency of the realm. The economy now ran on hard goods in the form of food, water, and medicine. Weapons too in some areas. What you couldn't barter...you have to take. Not too many liberal mindsets survived the 'Dollar Flu.'

This side of the river, the quarantine still held for the most part. Martial law had been by and large respected. Until recently. CERA Aid had grown infrequent as resources were stretched thin along the east coast. Add to that the roving brown-outs and fuel shortages. Disgruntled masses quickly escalated into food riots with copious amounts of looting, vandalism, and hysteria thrown in.

That was when the Second Wave had been activated. To go in and help staunch the bleeding; aid the undermanned and overwhelmed elements of the Joint Task Force. John had seen the deteriorating state of the country from his apartment. He'd prepared his family for it, hoping his activation wouldn't come too late.

He still clung to that hope, even after communications with the First Wave on the Isle of Manhattan had gone dark.

Checking his watch he realized they'd need to get moving again. They still needed to get to the safe house to gather supplies and Intel. The other two members of the team, Mia and Everett had already gone ahead and would be waiting. Louis Chang, Northeast Section Commander of the Division, had already commed them once to make sure they were en-route.

They would've been there sooner if they hadn't been reduced to traversing a city wrought with peril on foot. They'd already been distracted once by a group of gangers.

Just then gunfire echoed off to their left down the street causing both men to look up out of reflex. Though faint with distance, it sounded like it was just beyond the crest of the buildings. Using the hood of the police cruiser to lever himself, Darrell stood, gripping his AR15 at the low-read. Blue eyes scanned the street beneath the brim of his NYFD cap.

John didn't have to ask Darrell to know what he was thinking. His concerned expression said it all. "_Where's that coming from?_" John's HUD came to life, projected from a special pair of contact lenses directly onto his retinas. Only other Division agents outfitted with that particularly SHD kit could see what he saw.

A wave of pixels rippled out before him coalescing in a swirl of orange and blue data to form a rough three-dimensional map of the area. He could make out street names, building numbers, down to the general location of apartment rooms and hallways. Using practiced and methodical eye movement he zoomed in and oriented the map on their location. Icons sprouted up randomly. Some indicated friendly JTF units in green, blue were points of interest, and Division assets were in Orange. Red icons meant illegal activities ranging from acts of vandalism all the way up to attacks in progress.

One particular icon caught their attention. Highlighting it the Intelligent System Analytic Computer, or ISAC, tapped into local communications on the JTF band. John flinched at the eruption of chaotic voices shouting in desperation while begging for reinforcements. Amidst the cries, he heard the snarl of gunfire, which echoed through the buildings moments later.

"That police station is going critical," Darrel stated, "We should head that way."

As the senior agent, it came down to John to make any command decisions in the field though, in reality, Darrell had the autonomy to do as he felt as long as it stayed within the bounds of Directive 51. Protect civilians, preserve infrastructure, and ensure continuity of government.

Even though the police station wasn't far out of there way, there was the small issue of supplies. The team had expended more rounds then they wanted in an earlier engagement. Darrell was down to his last forty-round clip for his AR15, while Johns Vector .45 ACP had two thirty round magazines remaining. Everett and Mia hadn't been much better off hence their desire to get to the safe house as soon as possible. At least the food and medicine they'd liberated would be getting to the people who needed it and not hoarded in some ganger's hideout.

The desperate pleas floated through John's earpiece again. He saw the cop lying alone and cold in the street. Had he called for help too?

The agents' gazes met. There was an almost imperceptible nod of understanding.

With a series of rapid blinks, John set a Nav point, closed the map and pinged Everett and Mia's ISAC systems.

"Spectre03, Spectre04, this is Spectre01." Even as he spoke, he and Darrell were already moving.

"Spectre01, this is Spectre03," came Mia's smooth alto with its light New England lilt.

"Spectre01, Spectre 04," Everett's Boston tenor also replied.

John had known both almost as long as Darrell. Division cell's trained and drilled together constantly. Other than that they had no contact throughout their mundane lives. Up until Directive 51 was activated, secrecy had been paramount to preserve the Strategic Homeland Division from the political turmoil that paralyzed the FBI, CIA, and NSA in recent times.

"Alphabet_ soup_," he thought whimsically before refocusing. "Rendezvous at my location. Police station under attack."

"Wilco," Mia replied, "I picked up the same message."

Everett added, "We'll link up in ten mikes."

"Roger, Spectre01 out," John stated and cut the link. The safe house would have to wait. At that moment the police needed help. He sent an update to the commander, letting him know their intentions. A single ping of acknowledgment was all he got in response.

The pair set a brisk pace. Despite being loaded down with weapons, ammo, and Go-bags filled with supplies neither man shortened their stride. Credit to the Division's rigorous physical demands. Between the ISAC system and years of training, neither man needed to say more then what was necessary to set objectives. SHD had spared no expense in that area. It wanted all of its agents ready for anything, even if they were under-supplied.

As they passed abandoned autos, and piles of garbage, John did a running tally of his team's ammo. If it came down to a protracted firefight, which it most surely would, the agents would be forced to utilize their SHD Tech to give them an advantage. In addition to their training and firearms, the Division outfitted its agents with the latest and greatest tech in the fields of tactics and emergency aid. But outside a Division supply depot the equipment was rare and so had to be used fleetingly. The gear still served as an effective force multiplier.

"Civilian on the left," Darrell called out. With the ISAC system, he barely had to speak above a whisper for John's earpiece to pick it up. John turned and saw the man Darrell had indicated. He was wrapped in multiple layers looking miserable in the cold. ISAC labeled him as non-threatening, but John still kept an eye on the man's hands. While he didn't raise his carbine he didn't try to hide it either. These days 'non-threatening' could quickly escalate to 'threatening' if a person was desperate enough to want what you had. The presence of a weapon more often then naught deterred such notions.

The man continued to stand and shiver. He eyeballed the pair, taking note of their gear, paying particular attention to the orange glow of their watches and ISAC bricks. John caught a brief expression of recognition before the man nodded respectfully.

John's first instinct was to hand him a bottle of water or a snack bar as a sign of goodwill. Unfortunately, he was low on both. Instead, he settled for returning the gesture of respect with a quick two-finger salute. A hopeful smile spread across the man's pale complexion before he turned and headed into the nearest building. It wasn't much but John knew that a little hope went a long way.

Since the First Wave's activation, its presence has been widely televised as a means to inform reassure the public that the Government was still in control. Everyone quickly learned across the full spectrum of social class that "if you see the orange glow, then you'll know." John didn't know how he felt about his new found notoriety. He'd spent so long living a secret double lift it felt alien for everyone to know of his existence. However, if it helped him in his mission, he'd take all the help he could get.

Just then ISAC pinged nearby friendly units. Before John could check the Friend Or Foe tag Mia's voice came over his earpiece. "Spectre01 and 02, I have you on my map. Meet at the corner at your 12 o'clock."

"Good," Darrell replied quickening his pace and pulling ahead, "See you in a sec." John often forgot that not all member's of the Division were from the military or law enforcement. Not using brevity terms or proper radio etiquette was usually the big indicator. Then again, their comms were so secure and they knew one another so well most pretenses was bypassed anyway.

"Intersection's clear," Darrell called back and John hurried to catch up. They paused to wait for the others. Off to the left was a construction site, a sign indicated it was part of Brooklyn's ongoing addition to its subway system and utility improvement. A notice proudly posted '0' workplace fatalities and that work would be complete by August of next year.

Somehow John doubted the crew would meet the deadline.

A shiver ran up his spine, that had nothing to do with the cold, and everything to do with the derelict construction site and abandoned equipment. It wouldn't be long before scavengers went after the material and tools. John tightened the OD green shemaugh against the cold, ignoring the prevailing sense of dread that accompanied such thoughts.

As he tagged the location for a JTF scavenging detail a familiar Boston accent called out, "Friendlies coming in."

Everett was the shortest of the three men, coming up to five-foot-five with Italian coloration from his olive skin to dark hair. His EMT jacket was cinched against the weather by the sling of his AR15. Mia was the same height as Everette with auburn hair. Combined with her green eyes and homely expression, she could've easily passed as a member of the PTA rather than a government agent. Nondescript was the Divisions desire for all its members. Darrell at six-even was the tallest, and while he had the thick build of a fireman, he wouldn't be on the cover of any calendars.

John was the most average of the group. Five-nine, and weighing in at just under one-ninety, with honey blonde hair and green eyes, he looked like every other Joe-Shmo that walked the Irish Quarter in Brooklyn. Not even his brown leather bomber-jacket and blue-jeans drew more than a passing glance in his mundane life.

Both Everett and Mia were red-cheeked and huffing for breath, but otherwise okay. In addition to his Go-Bag and Red Trauma bag, Everett also hefted a small bandoleer filled with mags. He wordlessly handed them over to his counterpart, while Mia handed some additional clips to John. So they did make it to the Safe House. The pair must've gathered what they could before running the two blocks to link back up with them.

Nodding appreciation Spectre01 slid the clips into his belt pouches, after sticking the empties into his bag. They couldn't afford to waste even a single clip before a proper refit and resupply were conducted. He made a note to grab something threaded for 5.56/.223 like Everett and Darrell's weapons so they could cross load better. His and Mia's ACPs were nice but they needed something with a lot more range and stopping power.

Speaking of firearms. At that moment the staccato of weapons-fire sounded again. This time much closer. According to the Nav-Point, the police station was not even a block away. John quickly headed in its direction, his team wordlessly fell in behind in a loose diamond formation. Darrell formed up to his left, and Mia on his right. Everett brought of the rear, checking their six o'clock every so often. Brooklyn wasn't so lawless, John expected an ambush around every corner, but it was difficult to ignore reflexes years of tactical training had drilled into you.

Memories of CQC and MOUT flashed through his muscles as much as his mind along with a dose of adrenaline. His body was gearing up for combat. He felt a rush as he recalled the hectic but brief firefight with the gangers over the supply drop. It seemed surreal that aid during a pandemic would come at the barrel of a gun as much as from a hypodermic.

_Extremis Malis, Extrema Remedia_

Extreme Times, Extreme Remedy. The motto of the Division was aptly chosen.


	2. Chapter 1 Brooklyn

Chapter 1: Brooklyn

Upon their approach, the first thing they noticed was how eerily quiet the police station was. More so then the silence of the city. It was a sense that things should be happening but weren't. There was no sign of activity, friendly or otherwise. The station appeared oddly untouched with power still running. The parking lot was half full of cruisers. Which was a problem. Those cruisers should've been out on patrol, but losses due to sickness and officers abandoning their posts had left the Brooklyn PD unable to patrol their districts effectively.

The hairs stood up on the back of John's neck. Nothing about what he saw, or didn't see, felt right. Not after the gunfire and the distress call they heard earlier.

With the slightest of gestures, he and his team took cover behind vehicles and concrete parking barriers. Tapping a command on his watch, ISAC sent out a sensor pulse. Unseen to the naked eye, an orange wave rippled outward, sweeping over the cars and building. He swore inwardly when ten red icons appeared within the structure.

"Oh wow," Darrell murmured.

John's already keyed up brain switch into tactical mode instantly. As much as he would've enjoyed clearing the building, CQC style, it was to great a risk. While ISAC had marked the enemy targets it had also revealed the presence of a few friendlies before fading away. Possibly they were officers and civilian captured during the raid. Friendly fire was too high a possibility.

"Everett," he said gesturing to the brick wall perimeter of the parking lot, "Drone detail. Mia," he pointed to a cruiser opposite the doorway. She and the medic and nodded. Catching Darrell's eye, John jerked his chin towards the station. Knowing what his team-leader had in mind, the agent posted up just outside the door.

Once John had taken a better position, and the rest of his team was in place, he motioned to Darrell. The former firefighter took a sharp breath, bracing himself, before sweeping into the structure, rifle raised. A few seconds later, three shots rang out.

"Two tangos down," his voice called out over the comm. That left eight hostiles. "Coming out!" Darrell barreled out from the doorway flinging himself across the hood of a cruiser, landing less than elegantly on the other side. Right behind him, the bandits swarmed out. The first was dropped instantly by Mia, his chest exploding in a spray of crimson. The presence of additional firepower caused the next man to dodge to the right, while the following two went left. John tracked the pair, firing a sustained burst from his Vector. He managed to wound one before stitching a line of bullet holes through the car they used as cover.

"Two on the left, One on the right," Everett's voice called out. Just under it, he heard the buzz of the over-watch drone he was piloting overhead. Instantly all three men were tagged in their heads up display. That still didn't account for the four remaining tangos.

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Darrell yank an odd shaped SMG from his pack. With a quick jerk, it sprouted three stabilizing legs before being placed on the hood of the car. The SHD tech chirped to life and started tracking targets, firing short bursts of 9mm.

"Two more on the right!" Everett stated.

"Molotov! 02 Shift it!" Mia shouted over the gunfire. Darrell leaped backward rolling across the asphalt, coming up behind a concrete barrier. A glass bottle topped with a burning rag shattered on the ground where he had been moments prior. Flames reached out clutching at the soles of his boots but missed.

"Thanks, Mia!" the agent called out before rising and laying heavy fire into the bandits.

John shifted position, took aim and dropped a thug as he tried moving to flank them. Dropping back down he ejected his empty mag and jammed in a fresh one. He flinched as bullets flew by overhead making an uncomfortable zipping sound or pinged off the car frame.

The mini-turret was doing its best to lay down suppressing fire, but its clip would be spent soon. Mia managed to drop a second crook, while Darrell got his first.

Just then a lucky round caught the turret in one of its struts causing it to topple over. Safety functions kicked in and it went silent. "Oh, my turret's down," he heard Darrell murmur.

Taking advantage of the lull in weapons fire, a hostile rose and started advancing on Mia's position, spitting curses with each burst from his AK-47. John rose and fired, tagging him three times. One of his comrades got caught in the crossfire and took a round to the skull. Both men dropped like marionettes that had their strings cut.

"Drones taking fire," Everett called out.

"Shift to the rear of the building," John ordered.

"Wilco," he replied before shouting, "01 shift!"

ISAC blared an additional proximity warning. John flung himself forward over the hood of the police cruiser just as a second Molotov cocktail exploded on the pavement. One of the bandits, the wounded one from earlier, had worked his way around to the flank. Utilizing the distraction of his two partners death he'd lobbed the incendiary.

John raised his weapon just as the man stepped behind the rear of another cruiser. Squeezing the trigger, John traced a line along the length of the vehicle. The AP rounds ripped through the glass and thin armor of the cruiser. The man persisted in surviving, firing blindly over the vehicle. John ducked. Reaching back to a pouch at the back of his Go-bag he pulled out a baseball-sized sphere. ISAC sent the activation code and two orange bands started to glow around its hemispheres. John dropped it and with a bird-like chirp, it started rolling on its own. Like a puppy excited to see its owner it zipped across the powdered pavement, ducking under vehicles and zeroed in on the last remaining bandit.

"The fuck!?" came the exclamation before an explosion rocked the parking lot.

"Last tango down," he called out as the silence descended on the station.

It didn't last.

"Cover!" Mia shouted just as bullets peppered the ground all around the team leader. Swearing he slid behind the nearest enfilade. More rounds hit the top if the cruiser John had sheltered behind. The red and blue light bar exploded in a shower of plastic bits.

"Two targets on the roof!" Everett sated, the sound of the drone returning overhead.

"No shot!" Darrell exclaimed even as he fired furtively. John rolled over and sighted his attack and shot, but the bastards were down behind a series of air ducts.

"Everett can you mark him," Mia requested.

"Wait, one," the medic replied, and then, "Got'em!"

Like flares in the night, two red icons appeared where the bandits had been. They moved until they were standing behind the station sign. John took aim and fired. The rounds tore through the flimsy cover and the target. Duel distant screams were all the indications he needed.

"Tangos down," he called out. He stood giving his crew a visual inspection as they sounded off, "Spectre, Sit-rep?"

"Spectre02 up," Darrell confirmed even as he policed up his damaged turret. He was covered in snow from his earlier tumbles. John knew he didn't look much better.

"Spectre03 up," Mia confirmed even as she loaded fresh mag into her ACP.

"Spectre04 up," Everett called out as he tucked the mini-drone back into his pack.

"Spectre01 up," John finished. He made a rallying signal before leading the way into the police station. The friendlies within were going to be anxious after hearing all the gunfire, explosions, and yelling.

The main foyer was a mess. The looters had decided the spray lewd graffiti art all over the place. John ignored it and pressed deeper into the building passing through the ransacked locker room and into the bull-pit. It was a smaller station consisting of the main area branching off into a few offices, jail, and storage. If he read the layout right, there would be a small maintenance and supply area towards the back.

"Got friendlies in here," Mia said moving to the cell doors. Inside were a number of police officers each with looks ranging from frantic to awestruck. She drew her pistol. One round in each lock and the doors swung freely.

"Christ," one of the officers, a Lieutenant gasped stumbling out, "thank you so much." Everett moved in giving each of the captives a critical once over. They were all battered and bruised with one sporting a bullet wound. Non-fatal.

"Grazing shot," he explained stripping a bandage from its package, "You'll be fine." He slapped the state of the art medical bandage over the injury. A combination of triple-antibiotics and clotting agents would seal the wound and facilitate rapid healing. SHD had all the best toys.

John keyed up his ISAC brick and reestablished comms with the safe house. "Overwatch this is Spectre01, over"

"Spectre01, Overwatch." came Chang's filtered replied.

"Police station secure, over."

"Acknowledged, Specre01, the station is secure. Status of the staff, over?"

"One wounded, the rest are okay-" He stumbled a bit when the Lieutenant shook his head and held up two fingers. His grim expression said it all. "Correction: one wounded, two KIA, over."

"I copy: one wounded, two KIA, break," came the replied. A pause and then, "JTF en-route. Proceed to the safe house, over."

"Wilco, Overwatch. Spectre01 out." He turned to the police who all seemed to be coming down from their shock. John didn't know what the looters had in mind for their captives but whatever it was couldn't have been pleasant.

The Lieutenant took in their saviors. Just like the civilian in the street, a look of shocked realization dawned on him. "Hey, I've heard of you guys," he exclaimed, indicating their Division badges and SHD gear. He made his way to the front desk. "I can't thank you enough," he said pulling out a bottle of water for each of them. The agents took them and drank. These days the gift of food and water was akin to passing out gold. He gestured towards the rear of the facility, "The armory's in the back. The code is SH1023. Take whatever you need."

The gesture, on top of the hydration, was more than John expected. His training and experience had prepared him for the thankless job of preserving civilization at any cost. He hadn't expected charity in return. At first, he planned on turning down the offer but quickly curbed the action. It was an opportunity for his team to rearm and refit before heading to the Safe House. If another event occurred between here and there it was best they were prepared.

"Much appreciated," Darrell said shaking the officer's hand. The Lieutenant seemed surprised at the physical contact but quickly took it in stride, smiling.

"God bless you all," the wounded officer said. John doubted the quiver in his voice was from the pain. He also doubted God's blessings would be much help. They certainly hadn't helped the millions the Dollar Flu had already claimed.

Rather than voice his opinion he just nodded. Leading his team through the trashed police station they came to the entrance of the armory. The heavy duty security door was dented and scrapped around the locking mechanism. They must've interrupted the looters trying to break in. Could be they'd attacked the station to get at the weapons, gear, and supplies locked within.

Keying in the code, the deadbolts retracted the door slid to the side.

"Jackpot," Everett chimed and the none of the members of Spectre squad managed to suppress their smiles. The walls were lined with racks of weapons, and boxes of ammo. There were also cases of MREs, water, riot gear, and medicine. There were quite a few empty spots but still, the number of available supplies was surprising.

"Kids in a candy store," Darrell added making a bee-line towards a stack of preloaded magazines. He checked the cartridge size. Satisfied he began replacing his empty mags and tossing a few to Everett. Mia chuckled before dropping her ACP on the counter and pulling one of the Police M4s off the rack.

John considered grabbing one himself but was drawn to a long tough looking rifle case instead. It was tagged as evidence during a search-and-seizure operation. In the real world, he wouldn't consider taking its contents. Fortunately, Directive 51 allowed him to bypass the red-tape, and seize whatever equipment and supplies he might need to accomplish his mission. Literally in this case. Popping the locks he whistled in appreciation at its contents. Reaching in he withdrew a heavily modified AR15. It had a rail system, red-dot scope with flip up iron sights, improved collapsible stock with a forward hand grip for added control. It was also outfitted with an adjustable two-point sling and large suppressor.

"That gun is sick," Mia stated looking longingly from her plain M4 to the AR15.

Nodding, John slung the weapon and began packing mags with the others. Someone had put a lot of love into the weapon. He couldn't help but think that if it was still here then the original owner must not need it anymore.

In addition to the weapons and ammo, each agent took a few flash-bangs, tear-gas, and smoke grenades to supplement their own SHD tech. They also snagged a few MREs. Fully loaded it was time to leave.

They exited out the back side of the police station. This was where the true fire-fight had been. Bullet holes pock-marked the side of the building. A couple officers lay on the ground with empty holsters. One was slumped across a barrier, while the other was curled around a gut shot. Bloody patches expanded beneath them turning the snow-covered asphalt into a deep shade of maroon. They'd given a decent account of themselves at least. Half a dozen assailants lay strung out from the hole they'd cut in the fence leading all the way up to the steps.

When John and the others were activated they knew the situation was bad. Worse than anyone really knew. They were a small part of an elite highly skilled group of embedded agents. They were only called when everything else has failed.

They had no rules. They had no limits. Their job was to protect what remains.

They were fathers, girlfriends, coworkers, and may even have been someone's friend. But when they got the call they left everything and everyone they knew behind. They were always told it might come to that. That one day...everything they ever knew...could end.

The end came from a weaponized virus. One by one the innocent began to fall. People started tearing each other apart for survival until society as they knew it collapsed.

It was a signal that the normal lives they lead were gone.

They, the Division, were activated as a last resort.

John's hand tightened at the sight. Like the cop left in the intersection, these were officers who still manned their posts despite the world going to hell. Duty bound to uphold the law in spite of death. Such men were getting harder and harder to find. Every loss at this point was a stinging blow to the JTF's effort to maintain control. And this was in Brooklyn! Even if half the rumors out of Manhattan were true, the JTF was in far worse shape there.

John hastily shoved such assumptions from his mind. None of them knew the extent of what was going on across the river. All they knew was the First Wave had failed to contain the chaos and the Second Wave was needed to assist. If John and his team wanted to know more they needed to link up with the other Division Agents at the Safehouse.

"Man, check out Manhattan," Darrell said, his soft with reverence. John and the rest of his team followed his gaze. Sure enough, they had an impressive view of the Brooklyn bride spanning the river all the way to Manhattan Island. The city skyline cut magnificently across the steel gray of the winter clouds. A few yellow rays of sun sliced across their view giving the city an almost golden ethereal quality. The city looked serine as if a plague had never touched it.

"We should go there sometime," Mia stated dryly, though with a hint of awe in her voice. They would be soon enough, but for the moment, John allowed himself an opportunity to appreciate the sight. This was how he wanted to remember New York; resilient and resplendent in the face of Armageddon.


	3. Chapter 2 Safe House

Chapter 2: Safe House

The Strategic Homeland Division spared no expense when it came to personnel, training, and gear. Its choice of Safe Houses was the exception. Personnel were selected partly because they could blend in with the regular population. They were sleeper agents after all. Safe Houses, like the one in Brooklyn, were chosen along the same criteria. They were out of the way and unobtrusive. This one happened to be in one of two four-story apartment buildings that ringed the park near an industrial complex. Red-bricked and sporting out of date AC units, and rusted bike racks, it barely drew a second glance.

Nothing stood out about the structure unless you were wearing Division issued contacts. On the walls at each corner of the building, in UV paint were arrows directing agents towards the side entrance. Within, smaller arrows adorning the floor led to an apartment on the second floor. It was situated directly in the center of the level, away from both the stairs and the elevator. It also had no windows making sure that no outside witnesses could see what was within.

The safe house ended up being two apartments that had been combined into one. The center wall had been expertly removing making the main living area much larger. The original furniture had likewise been removed to make way for a handful of foldout tables covered in computers, communications, and surveillance equipment. It needed the space to accommodate the crates of supplies and the handful of JTF personal monitoring their stations and assisting other agents.

There were at least a dozen other men and women in the room. The only similarities between them were the SHD badges, watches, and ISAC bricks. They were also all armed. There was the briefest of pauses to acknowledge his arrival before they went back to what they were doing. In the background, he heard Rick Valassis, a local radio host speaking over a radio.

John didn't recognize a single one. Then again he wasn't supposed to and he wouldn't have the time to get to know them. All of them were there to get their assignments and would eventually get sent where they were needed. He gave his team a nod. They returned it before heading to the JTF quartermaster to see what supplies were on tap. John moved towards the front desk to speak with the duty officer. The commander had instructed him to link up with Agent Faye Lau, the Second Waves Executive Officer. The duty officer, a rung out looking National Guard Sergeant, by the name of Hazen, directed him towards the back room.

What originally had been the master bedroom now served as a sort of command and control center, with maps of Brooklyn and photos of persons-of-interest adorning the wall. Even more, supplies were stacked against the wall. Hovering over a laptop monitor in the center of the room was another National Guardsmen, a 1st Lieutenant, and woman sport SHD tech. Had to be Faye Lau.

She was oriental, Chinese possibly with a moniker like Lau. Shorter then John by about four inches with short dark hair, Lau had to be in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. It was difficult to determine if the lines on her face were the result of age or stress.

At a gesture from the senior agent, John waited while the Lieutenant continued on his brief.

"We're losing this whole neighborhood," the officer explained gesturing to a wide swath of the part of Brooklyn they currently stood in. "Rioters are moving through, in force and headed this way."

Lau nodded before pointing towards a pair of intersections. "Put your people there." The Lieutenant nodded before stepping aside and began issuing orders to his staff. The agent finally faced the Team Leader. "I see someone else got the call." She stood straight and approached him. "Faye Lau, Division. Activated the same time as you. Part of the second wave of us going in."

"John Carter, Spectre01," he replied giving her grip a firm shake and doing his best not to sound anxious. Jerking his thumb back into the front room he added, "Darrell Allen 02, Mia and Everett Spectre03 and 04." Dropping the greeting John's voice turned serious, "What's the situation with the First Wave?" It was a logical question. If they were going to Manhattan they needed to know what assets were still in play to either assist or utilize.

Faye Lau's expression dropped slightly, which caused John's stomach to clench with nerves. She sighed and seemed to abort an instinctual reaction to shrug. "I don't know what happened to the First Wave, but unfortunately, there's still lots for us to do." She made her way back to the table and John followed. "We don't have much intel. And we don't have the luxury of failure," she leaned heavily on the desk her tone becoming serious, "not with Manhattan on lock-down and Brooklyn on the brink." She locked eye with him. "People like me – and you – we're what's left to hold the line." Straightening her tone became a bit more confident. "With any luck, we'll have more to go on when we rendezvous with the Commander. More about the situation, about who's turning the streets into a war-zone, anything that's going to help us do what we're supposed to do. Now," she started to turn back to the laptop and gestured to the National Guard Officer, "If you'll excuse me. Lieutenant?"

The officer nodded and started ushering the Agent to the door that led back out into the main room. "Sergeant Hazen and his team are handling situation reports," he explained holding the door open and nodding respectfully, "If you're looking for a hot spot, that who you want to talk to."

John liked the idea of getting straight to work even if it was doing more of what they had been doing en-route to the Safe House. His brief with Agent Lau had been insightful if not a bit grim. Division Agents were trained to handle high levels of stress, but to see the second in command looking even remotely distraught made him nervous. Fortunately, she seemed more determined then discouraged. Most of the Agents activated were locals. For a lot of them, this mission was personal as much as it was their duty. Faye Lau it seems was no exception.

Out in the main room he discovered most of the other agents had cleared out, having already received the mission of their own. His own people stood off to the side conversing with their counterparts while sorting gear and equipment. After gesturing for them to standby he approached the table where Sergeant Hazen stood before a white-board covered in notes, while a Specialist worked at a laptop.

The sergeant's tired eyes brightened at the sight of the team leader. "Thank God you're here, Agent." He ran a hand through hair that looked as if he had washed it in a week. In fact, he noticed most JTF members were in similar states. Low personnel numbers meant long shift, coupled with rationed power and water meant certain creature comforts had to be sacrificed. He wondered how long it would be before he and his team looked similarly haggard.

"I've never seen Brooklyn like this," he exclaimed his voice nearly breaking under the strain he'd been under for much longer then his enlistment had called for, "we're barely hanging on!" He seemed to compose himself with an effort of will. He even had the decency to look sheepish at his outburst. Clearing his throat he explained, "I'll be your point of contact for any emergency ops – we've had plenty of action and it's not letting up!" He raked his fingers through his hair again, "Jesus, I'm not gonna have any hair left when this is done."

John offered him an encouraging smile and patted his shoulder. "Deep breath sergeant. We do what we can for as long as we can. Can't ask more than that."

It was at that moment the Specialist grabbed the Sergeants arm and pointed at his screen.

Swearing he read the report and looked up apologetically at John. "Rioter took the weekly food supply from the Brooklyn Heights distribution center! They try and sell it back to all the starving people – plain and simple profiteering on the backs of people who are suffering. Get that food back!"

Almost instantly ISAC sprung to life setting a Nav-Point on his HUD. The rest of Spectre Team looked up having received the save point. No orders were necessary. He exited the safe house with his team right behind him. As they hit the street Everett shoved some additional medical supplies and replacement SHD tech in his pack, all without breaking stride. Darrell's turret was also repaired, meaning if it came down to a fight they were ready. If a group of gangers similar to the last one had seized this supply cache then they would be more then ready.

John didn't know how many Agents were in the second wave, or what it would take to save what remained. But there is one thing he did know; there cannot be any hope for tomorrow if they didn't fight for today. Just as he had told Hazen; You do what you could for as long as you could.


	4. Chapter 3 Restoration

Chapter 3: Restoration

Winters in Brooklyn had always been beautiful to John. Cold to be sure, but when the frost formed in the wee hours of the morning giving the world an almost crystalline sheen, it seemed otherworldly. Somehow, the air itself felt cleaner and crisper, making his early morning runs all the more bracing. The plunge into the bitter cold was better than any cup of coffee. There was also something to be said about cuddling with his wife on the couch in the warmth of their apartment.

The memory made her heart ache just a bit. He had to force the emotions down. By now the action was as habitual as breathing. He missed her. There was no getting around it. The confusion on her face still haunted him. After retrieving his stash of SHD gear there had been no time to swing back by the apartment and explain things. He'd tried calling but by then the cell towers had been shut down. The only thing left was to focus on the mission and pray they'd be safe at the Brooklyn JTF facility. He wasn't the only agent to leave family behind. Mia had a husband he thought and Darrell a girlfriend. SHD would make their safety a priority; a contingency so that agents were free of the burden of worrying.

It was easier for him not to think of the virus.

Black Friday was when it all began. Eight million New Yorkers infected within three short weeks. The news had said the origin of the disease had yet to be confirmed, but many theories speculated that it could be the result of a well orchestrated terrorist attack.

John wasn't sure of its exact origins either. He was relying on Chang and Lau to fill him in when the time was right. The lack of knowledge had only contributed to the mass panic that had swept New York and eventually the entire East Coast.

By the time Washington had the first report of a smallpox outbreak, it was already too late. John had tried to get his wife and daughter out of Manhattan. He got lucky. The military locked down the bridges and tunnels just as he got his family into Brooklyn. He tried his best to keep them safe; stockpiling food, water, and medical supplies.

The news went from bad to worse after that. Stories broke that Rikers Island had been overrun and private security firm had overtaken Wall Street. Even as the JTF struggled to regain control of the city cases of the virus appeared in Shanghai, Hong Kong, and London. The world was now infected. Chaos reigned in New York when President Waller finally signed Directive 51 into action. The First Wave of the Division was activated.

Sarah, his daughter, thought it was an adventure. She'd always been an optimistic kid. About the time the News Channels stopped broadcasting out of New York, the First Wave had gone silent and the Second Wave was activated. It would forever be the hardest day of his life.

Trisha's initial reaction had been panic, and anger at him needing to leave. He did his best to explain his Agent status, going so far as to show her his SHD badge and equipment. He doubted it did little to soothe her anxiety, but at least it got him out the door. When things got tough John knew he could count on her to do whatever it took to take care of their daughter.

Some way, somehow he would get back to them. He just hoped Trisha would want him back by then. Just like everything else, he hoped he could save what remained.

The Brooklyn Heights distribution center was a couple blocks away from the safe house. Specter Team had passed a number of civilians sprinting in the opposite direction. Some carried boxes of supplies, while other clutched at wounds. None stopped or even gave the agents a second glance, to fearful of what they were fleeing.

Everett manages to snag one of the civilians, a woman wearing a puffy green parka, and ask what had happened. Through the panicked babbling, the team managed to decern that the rioters had opened fire, killing the JTF security escort and a few bystanders. When pressed for additional details she just wrenched her arm free and ran, blind with fear.

John knew it wouldn't be the last time he saw that expression on a person's face.

At least now they knew the bandits were heavily armed. They had to be in order to take down the JTF personnel guarding the center. They would've no doubt augmented their arsenal with the guard's weapons and equipment.

The Distribution center was situated outside of a warehouse. A large blue CERA tent sat with its flaps drawn. Next to it was an Army 5-ton filled with boxes. The road leading to the center was choked with a dozen vehicles; an ambulance, and a New York cab amongst them. From their position, John could make out only a handful of people. They all wore civilian clothing. Mostly jackets over hoodies with some sort of scarf or bandanna covering their faces. John didn't know if the masks were a gang thing or if they were just trying to stay warm. They were also all armed; shotguns, pistols, and a few assault rifles. As expected some had picked up M4s and dawned some of the fallen JTF's gear. They were probably hoping to look more tactical and intimidating. Instead, they came across as some pseudo-third-world-militia.

"Specter04 on over-watch," he ordered.

"Wilco."

"Scanning," Mia said. Her ISAC brick sent out a pulse. Nine red icons sprout amongst the cars and CERA tent. Unfortunately, a half dozen "green" hostages appeared within the tent. Most likely insurance against JTF counter attacks. The criminals were getting smarter it seemed.

"Conserve ammo," he breathed flipping his weapon from safe to semi. He heard three additional clicks. "On me," he growled centering his sights on the nearest rioter. The rest of the team zeroed in on their own. There was no time to send up the drone or set up the turret. Both would only alert the hooligans to their presence. He could only hope that they dropped enough of them fast enough the rest would just run scared.

Taking one slow breath he slid his finger over the trigger. "3...2...1-" Bullets suddenly ripped into the car he and Darrell had be kneeling behind forcing them to duck. The firefighter twisted around, leaning over the hood and squeezed the trigger. The attack ceased and John saw a body fall from a bit of tarp-covered scaffolding across the road.

A lookout!

The rapid staccato of gunfire split the cold air, and suddenly the Bandit force was a swirl of movement. Shouts filled the air closely followed by the sounds of weapons being discharged in their general direction. Everetts AR15 barked once in response.

"Tango down!" he called out.

At the CERA tent, a rioter wearing tactical gear and wielding an M249 began issuing orders and waving his followers forward. John tried taking him out only to be forced to get low when bullets zipped by his head. Under covering fire from Everett Mia flanked left.

"Crossing!" John called out, causing Darrell and Everett to lift fire temporarily until he'd taken up position by the ambulance. He looked up just in time to see a man level his shotgun at Mia as she advanced forward. The man's head snapped backward in an explosion of blood and gray matter, the shotgun going off harmlessly into the wall above Mia's head. The female agent ducked around a car and put two rounds into the second rioter dropping him.

John and Darrell advanced to cover behind a black sedan, just as Everett's marksmanship claimed the life of yet another bandit.

Angered by his partner's death a rioter wearing a green beanie raised his AK47 and unloaded into the side of the sedan.

"03, suppress him!" Darrell called out.

After slapping in a fresh mag, Mia rose and fired at the bandit. Rounds peppered the Kia Soul 'green beanie' stood behind forcing him down.

"01 cover me," he added and John obliged, "Crossing!" Mia lifted her aim just as John laid into the Kia keeping the rioter pinned down. Darrel sprinted the four yards, sliding in the snow, bringing himself behind the Soul. Two trigger squeezes later and the assailant flopped back onto the asphalt. He swore as two more of Mr. Greenie's buddies behind a red Toyota fired on him. Tail lights and windshield exploded around him. Even as glass bounced off the brim of his hat the Agent managed to quickly reload his AR15.

Mia and John hurried forward to take up position behind the Kia. "Seeker out!" Mia warned. The glowing orange sphere identical to the one John had used, zipped out from her position. It rolled purposefully beneath the Toyota and exploded on the opposite side. Both men's screams were cut off by the thunder and shrapnel that engulfed them.

John and Mia, followed by Everett raced to the side the Toyota. Mia stood to take aim only to drop back down as a torrent of automatic weapons fire ripped into the chassis of the vehicle. Only the leader and his one remaining foot-soldier remained and it seemed they weren't going down without a fight.

"This cover won't last!" Mia shouted over the roar of the SAW. To emphasize her point the tires on the opposite side blew and the windows shattered. The three of them were pinned with no cover between them and their targets.

Glancing around the opposite side of his own cover Darrel spotted the Brooklyn Taxi cab slanted across the road. An idea spawned in his head. Leaning back he called out to his team. "I'm going to make some more!"

"Do it!" John yelled.

Running under sporadic cover he made his way to the driver's side of the cab. He was irritated to find the doors locked. The window shattered under the butt of his rifle. Unlocking the driver's door he yanked it open. Leaning down he pressed the brake pedal and forced the shifted the vehicle into neutral. Bracing his shoulder against the from he shoved. Legs muscles strained as he got the taxi up to speed.

"C' mon! Move!" Darrell shouted. Just as the taxi angled itself between the Toyota and the weapons fire, the remaining three agents sprinted to the new mobile cover. Everett took position over Darrell and along with Mia fired through the cab of the vehicle. John brought up the rear firing over the trunk. Mr. Tactical's one remaining fighter dropped with three rounds to the chest. The last one standing the leader continued to fire his SAW until it clicked empty. Swearing he ducked down and ran for the CERA tent and the hostages within.

John ran after him. The rest of his team moved to surround the tent to prevent the thug from escaping. He heard a scream from within. Adrenaline pumping, Specter01 had to force himself to breathe and focus before throwing back the flap and entering. Sure enough, he found six civilians and an LAPD officer bound and kneeling on the ground.

"Put the gun down!" The remaining bandit stood behind the civilians, clutching a hostage close and holding a pistol, "Or I'll put a hole through her head!" The hostage was a girl in her early teens. Tears streamed down her cheeks as a woman, her mother, pleaded with the bandit to let her go. "Shut up!" he barked making her recoil. The man's hood and mask had fallen revealing a young face. Mid-twenties, brown eyes filled with desperate tension. He knew he would die, and this was his last gamble at survival.

John knew this. He also knew that the rioter would make good on his promise. He met the girl's green eyes. They were practically begging him to save her. Despite the hell-scape they now lived in she still wanted so desperately to live. Just like her captor. Just like John, but they all knew someone would not be walking out of that tent.

The tension reached its breaking point. John's hand came away from the grip of his AR15. "Alright," he said keeping his voice level. The girl shook her head and sobbed."It's okay," he said to her, "Everything's okay." He slowly lowered the barrel until it pointed directly at the ground.

A savage grin crossed the man's face, as he slowly pulled the pistol out of the girl's hair and aimed it directly at John's chest. 'Wrong move, asshole!' he expression read. John didn't even blink.

"Take it," he said into his comm-link.

A rifle barked once, followed simultaneously by the wet popping sound of a bullet puncturing flesh and bone. The bandits head snapped to the side as chunks of blood, bone, and brain matter splattered across the CERA crest. The girls jumped and squealed in alarm as the body slumped to the floor. Outside Mia called 'all clear' to the team who moved in to assist the hostages. John was only vaguely aware of it. His mind was filled with the sight of the woman embracing her daughter, both sobbing and crying in a mixture of shock and complete relief. In his mind, he could see his own daughter and wife clutching at one another and yearning for the safety that may never come.

"Hey," a voice called out. John jerked out of his thoughts as Darrell's hand gripped his shoulder. The Fireman looked at him with earnest empathy. "You're going to see them again," he stated, his tone firm and honest. John swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, forcing the emotions back down again. Darrel returned the nod with an affectionate pat on the shoulder before turning their attention back to the hostages.

As an afterthought, John ran the bandit leader's face through ISACs facial recognition software. JTF's database tagged the dead bandit as one Michael Duncan a local agitator before the collapse. He was wanted in connection to two counts of assault and battery and four counts of B&E. He figured he could add murder, larceny, kidnapping to the list.

Additional evidence indicated that it was his crew responsible for the attack on the police precinct earlier that day. With him dead, and the gang destroyed, they'd dealt a critical blow to the criminal element within that neighborhood. At least for the time being anyway.

The hostages, three men, two women, the teenager, and the officer were battered and in shock, but otherwise okay. Everett treated them as needed. The four-man JTF security detail, plus the two drivers were not so lucky. Mia, Darrell and the police officer laid out and covered the soldier's bodies to give them some measure of honor. John sent his report up. He made sure to include their names alongside his teams current status.

"Acknowledge all, Specter01," came Hazen's response. Relief and sorrow filled his voice. "Glad you got there when you did." He didn't need to add 'it could've been a lot worse.' John knew it could have been. In other places, it was worse. After getting confirmation JTF was en-route to collect the people and supplies Hazen added that Specter Team had another mission.

The Sergeant explained that another local gang has taken civilians prisoners. They were looking to exchange the hostages for drugs. JTF wanted to negotiate, but Commander Chang overruled them. The SHD didn't negotiate.

As the Nav-point appeared on their HUDs John acknowledged the orders and passed the information on to his team. They conducted a quick ammo check and although they had expended a fair number of rounds each of them was still green. They were just about to leave when the police officer approached.

"You guys are going back out there?" he asked, an expression of bewildered awe on his bruised face. He got silent nods in return. "Who are you people?"

John looked at each of his companions. Mia shrugged, and Everett smirked. Darrell just looked as if he was ready to get moving. The Team leader looked back the officer as the other members of Specter Team started to move out. "We are the Division."


	5. Chapter 4 Second Wave

Chapter 4: Second Wave

The hostage rescue at the Brooklyn Bank&Trust was a success. They barely had time to catch when that mission turned into another. Specter had to help recover some stolen medical supplies. Once that was done they only had time to resupply on ammo and water before they were called in to lift a siege on yet another police precinct. The joint Division JTF effort was also a success with no casualties. By the time all was said and done Specter team had been up for over thirty-six hours sufficing on ration bars and water.

While the JTF reestablished themselves at the precinct he and his team found a quiet cell and got a few hours of rack-time. John had never slept on a prison bed before. They felt just as comfortable as the military hammocks. He figured that before their mission was over he'd learn to really appreciate down pillows and soft mattresses.

In the morning he and his team made their way back to the safe-house. En-route they realized just how much quieter the streets were. Not eerily so with the absence of engines and generators, but...peaceful. People were coming out of their apartments and homes again. Some of them even waved at the agents. There was still the sense of unease about the trash-strewn streets, but also an undertone of hope. John, his team, and the other Division agents operating in the area had made a difference.

Brooklyn was recovering.

Sergeant Hazen and the other JTF officers and guardsmen at the safe house made that clear upon their arrival. "It not much, but it's yours," the Non-Com explained gesturing to the veritable buffet before them. Freshly made sandwiches, chips, soda, and even cookies. After a breakfast of MREs, the snacks were a welcome change in diet. Lord knew when they'd get such a treat again.

Other agents par-took as well. Even Lau popped in to grab a bite before ducking back out again. The work was never done it seemed.

As they chowed down Hazen came over, looking bashful. "Fantastic work agents," he said, "I think you put the lid back on this place just when it was about to boil over." They nodded in appreciation but the man wasn't finished. "We all thank you," he wrung his hands looking anxious, "and I wanted to say personally that I've lived in Brooklyn my whole life, so what you've done means a lot to me."

John didn't know how to respond at first until an idea struck him. Rising he stood straight. Coming to attention he saluted. "We're a team. This is our city-our home-too. We're all in this together. Thank _you_." Hazen didn't know what to say, but then a smile crossed his face and he returned the salute. Technically John was no longer military and held no rank, but he knew that the gesture would resonate with the soldiers and first responders that made up the JTF. They needed every boost of morale that he could give.

And the job was far from over.

They were just winding down when ISAC came to life alerting to an incoming message from the second wave commander.

"Excellent work Specter," the engine noise in the background made it sound like he was onboard an aircraft "Brooklyn is stable again. Manhattan?" There was a wry chuckle before he continued, "Manhattan is another story." At the very mention of the city, all the agents perked up. "But let's get over there as see for ourselves." Specter was already moving, putting away the last of their food before gathering gear and SHD Tech. "I've got a few more agents with me now. We'll rendezvous with Agent Lau and fly over together." Which confirmed he was indeed in an aircraft. "Commander Chang, out."

Nervous anticipation filled his team as word got passed around. They were going to cross the river to the place they'd all heard about. Ground Zero of the Dollar Flu. The place where the First Wave had disappeared. It was the worst scenario the Division could've imagined, but they had trained for it. They were ready.

A part of him was going to miss Brooklyn. They'd done so much good there working with the Hazen and rest of the JTF, but it was time to move on. Brooklyn was safe, but if they could stabilize Manhattan then there was the greater possibility of stabilizing the rest of New York and beyond. And perhaps, if the Intel was true, then in Manhattan resided the building blocks for a vaccine. That alone was worth any sacrifice.

The LZ turned out to be a cleared section of parking-lot near the CERA Compound. Other than guards on the parameter fence, the area was like a ghost town made up of shipping containers and crates of supplies. A Glimpse at one of the manifests revealed that a lot of the supplies were meant for the island. Their destination.

One of the great bridge pylons loomed over the landing pad. John could just make out the lines of abandoned cars left bumper to bumper when the bridge was closed. Beyond that was Manhattan Island itself. Once again John was struck by the beauty of its skyline. But with the onset of night and the lack of power the skyscrapers of the once majestic city looked more like claws reaching up to the moon. They reminded him of an icy hand reaching from the ocean depths clutching at the last vestiges of life.

"Over there."

Faye Lau's voice made him jump earning a chuckle from members of his team. He hadn't noticed his fellow agent coming up on his right. She had the decency not to notice she'd surprised him and pointed towards a warehouse across the river near the opposite end of the Brooklyn Bridge. "There's a bar behind that building. Best whiskey sours in Manhattan." He met her gaze, "If we take this city back, I'll buy you a drink." She scoffed at her own choice of words. "Sorry..._When_ we take it back."

"We'll take it back," John stated knowing full well that, like his counterpart, he couldn't afford to believe otherwise.

She smirked following his same thought process. Her eyes flinched over his shoulder and pointed. "Here it comes." At that moment Specter Team became aware of the sound of engines on approach. They looked around just in time to see a twin-engine Osprey descend from the gathering darkness. In the glare of its running lights, John could just make out the black lettering of 'MARINES' stenciled near its tail.

"The rest of us should be in this chopper," Lau explained, raising an arm to shield her face. Specter did likewise. "Can't believe its finally happening." John wasn't sure if she was referring to the mission to Manhattan or their activation. There were times he had trouble believing it himself then the grim details of reality reminded him otherwise.

The engines rotated to their vertical position as the aircraft came around for its final approach. The massive propellers kicked ups gale-force dousing them in a cloud of snow and grit. Its landing gear lowered and the craft settled on the pad. Its side hatch opened and a Vietnamese man in his thirties appeared. Commander Chang, he presumed. The senior agent gestured them forward mouthing the words 'C' mon!'

"Let's do this!" Lau called out stepping forward.

Light filled his vision and it felt like he was falling through space. Somewhere to his right, he heard a scream, but it was cut off but the loudest whistle he'd ever heard. His mind was awash with chaotic images that kaleidoscoped into one another in a swirl of color and sound. His daughters smile...metal rending under immense pressure...the cheers at a football game...smoke obscuring the stars...his wife's laughter...fire and screams.

In some distant part of his mind, John clung to the images of his family as if their very presence was all that kept him from fading into nothingness. But in that same instant, another thought crystallized with utter clarity.

The Osprey had exploded...


End file.
